


Every Kind of Closeness

by Mottlemoth



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: 1099 Fic, Bath Sex, Established Relationship, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Immortal Husbands, Intimacy, M/M, Soft sex, Tenderness, fluff and comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:47:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26083690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mottlemoth/pseuds/Mottlemoth
Summary: When they're sharing space with the rest of the immortals, Nicky and Joe have to give up physical intimacy. Their first night together again is always special.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 99
Kudos: 689





	Every Kind of Closeness

**Author's Note:**

> I'm calling this a 1099 ficlet, because they met in 1099 and it's got 1099 words. <3 You saw it here first.

When lovers moan,  
they're telling our story.

_Jalâl-Ud Din Rûmî, transl. by Coleman Barks with John Moyne_   
_13th century CE_

*

Nicky has missed his husband.

He's missed this absolute and endless closeness—a warm bath, perfect quiet, pillar candles fluttering in the darkness. He missed the comfort of Joe's skin against his skin, Joe's hands resting safe upon his lower back, the brush of Joe's lips and the way the quiet holds them together like it loves them, like it wants them to be close. He's missed the catch in Joe's breath when their tongues sweep. He's missed the flex of Joe's fingers at his hips. The work comes first; they agreed that centuries ago. Andy's call will always be answered without pause.

But Nicky's missed the gentle nights like these.

They can't have this when they're on the road. The press of Joe's body against Nicky's back when they sleep is all they have. Booker teased them for it, once. _"Can you guys not cope even one night without cuddling?"_ Joe brushed it aside with a joke, saying that the two of them only take up one bed this way. It saves space.

It was a gracious response, far more gracious than the man deserved.

Nicky had quite wanted to challenge him over it.

 _"Does it harm you?"_ he'd have asked with absolute calm, if it weren't for Joe's hand gripping his knee beneath the table. _"Do you think we're happy, sharing our scraps of privacy with you? Do you understand how much you're_ not _seeing?"_

To this day, Nicky suspects that Andy had a word with Booker. No comments were ever made again. Nicky can imagine the way she put it, simple and clean. _"Hey. Leave Joe and Nicky to it, will you? They're not causing any problems."_ Andy has always seemed to understand. They've abandoned a hundred almost-homes to throw themselves across the world with her. It hurts a great deal more than they're willing to share, and Nicky knows in his bones that Andy knows it. He sees it in her eyes sometimes. Her arrival calls an end to their peace, and she's sorry.

She always gives it back, though.

No matter what they endure, Andy returns them safely to nights like this one: empty wine glasses between the taps, Joe's wet hands buried in Nicky's hair, the soft moans Joe releases into the warm and private space between their mouths. Whenever he's seen Joe die, Nicky needs the next time they make love to be like this. He needs the whole night. He needs eye contact. He needs his husband's face in his hands, never more than an inch away from his own, and he needs to settle gentle kisses on every single part of Joe—his nose, his brow, the long curves of his cheekbones, the coarse curls at his temples, his perfect lips parted in breathless reverence. Seeing Joe's eyes flash with pleasure rather than agony brings more healing than words ever can. Nights like this are full of promises. Nicky makes them in moans as Joe's hands map the glossy shine of his back, grasping him and holding him, always wanting him closer. _It's alright, habibi. I'm here. I'm still here._

Alone at last, weeks of caution and discretion fall away.

The littlest and most beautiful of deaths, when they come, are never the end—simply moments of closeness among many. Gentle valleys of rest lie between the peaks, just as intimate. In his embers, weak and panting softly against Nicky's mouth, Joe reaches beneath the water to slip his fingers inside Nicky and coax him to his own cries. He drinks them from Nicky's lips, whispering to him in Arabic, _there, my moon, my love, my soul. There you are._

They lie together in the bath into the small hours, kissing and talking softly, cleaning wounds on each other's bodies that never left any trace. When the water grows cool, they add more warm. When Nicky's throat gets dry from calling out, Joe rises dripping from the bath and pads through to the kitchen without a care, leaving wet footprints on the black marble tiles. He returns with glasses of iced water and a tray of fresh fruit. He cradles Nicky against his chest and feeds him sliced apricot and melon by hand, gazing down into his face. Nicky gazes back, licks the juices from his fingers. Drifting into sex again, it doesn't matter whose body nuzzles gently into whose. They've fucked for hours now; every kind of closeness feels good. They're inside each other, sharing every moment, and it's all that Nicky wants.

By the time they shower and settle into bed, it's almost dawn.

One last surge of longing—something about the comfort in Joe's face as he lies back against the pillows, the way his eyes close with quiet enjoyment. Nicky rides him, flushed and breathing hard, pushing his husband's hands to where he needs them on his body. Joe comes first. He arches upwards, groaning, and throws his head against the pillows as his face contorts. The sight is too much to bear. Nicky's climax, seconds later, nearly knocks him out.

As he settles down to sleep, naked and warm in Joe's arms, tender snowflake kisses dot across his forehead.

It makes him smile, more freely than he has in weeks.

"I love you," he breathes, unaware of even what language he uses. They're so close it doesn't matter. "I love you in every part of me. You are everything."

Joe seems to shiver. He catches Nicky's lips with his own, and Nicky feels the words echo in his bones as they kiss, his husband's voice flowing through his blood, so deeply that it aches: _I missed you, I missed you, I missed you._

"I'll make breakfast when you're ready," Joe murmurs. "Anything you want. Name it, _amore mio,_ and I'll make it for you."

Nicky's heart thumps. _Make love to me for breakfast,_ he thinks. _Touch me like I'll never live a minute without you._ He winds his fingers through his husband's curls, keeping Joe close for one last kiss.

A second last kiss becomes a third.

When they've laid kissing for almost ten minutes, Joe's mouth forms a smile.

"Were we planning to get some sleep at some point?" he asks with amusement between kisses, brushing his hand up Nicky's side. "Or are we just going to skip that part?"

Shivering with joy, Nicky cradles his husband's jaw.

"I don't want sleep," he says, nestling closer. "I don't need sleep. I just need you."


End file.
